Flapping
by Ifwecansparkle
Summary: Willy is worried about some of Charlie's behaviors. Mrs. Bucket is there to reassure him. Autistic!Charlie Bucket, Autistic!Willy Wonka


**Just a little ficlet with a couple of my pet autistic headcanons. I don't know where this comes from, but it's been a while since I've written Charlie and the Chocolate Factory fic so I thought I would give it a shot.**

"Willy, dear, what are you doing up so late?" Theodora Bucket nudged the toe of her boot playfully against Willy Wonka's knee and he responded by glancing up at her like he'd seen a ghost.

"Mrs B!" He exclaimed, grinning wanly in the almost-dark of the Chocolate Room at night, "Gee, I didn't see you there!"

"Do you mind if I join you?" She thought he might. Willy was skittish around adults. Well, Willy was skittish around everyone, but adults in particular. He froze in consideration for a long moment, and then scooted over in the Swudge, as if there was a scarcity of room on the chocolate riverbank. Mrs. Bucket took that as an invitation, and sat down carefully, smoothing out her skirt as she did.

"I thought everyone was asleep," he admitted after a long moment of silence.

"Almost everyone," she acquiesced. "Charlie is asleep because he has school tomorrow, and his grandparents are asleep because-"

"They're old?" Willy guessed honestly. She responded by stifling a chuckle.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it. Mr. Bucket and I were about to turn in, ourselves, when I saw you sitting out here all alone and in the dark and I thought perhaps you had something on your mind. Forgive me if I'm intruding."

That was the very reason she had requested that her husband stay inside their home. Of all the people Willy was skittish around, he was the most skittish around Charlie's father. She felt quite sure his presence would be seen as an intrusion to Willy.

"Intruding? Nah. On my mind...eh."

"That isn't a no," she reminded him, trying to encourage him without pressuring.

"Nope," he admitted, and then shrugged before pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she offered, hoping he would say yes, and fully expecting him not to do so.

"No. Yes. Maybe. It's...about Charlie."

This surprised her more than anything else Willy could have said. Of all the Buckets, Charlie was the one he appeared not to have an intrinsic problem with.

"Has he done something wrong? I'm sure it couldn't have been on purpose. Charlie is a very good boy. If you talk to him-"

"He hasn't doesn't anything wrong," Willy interrupted her dithering gently. "He's peachy keen. He's the bees knees. He's a good kid," he paused to titter nervously, " but he flaps."

"He...flaps?" She wasn't exactly sure where Willy was going with this, but she had enough of an idea that she dreaded to hear more.

"Like a little birdie learning to fly," Willy confirmed. "Like this!" he demonstrated eagerly, a gloved hand lashing out and waving to no one in the darkness. Theodora tensed at the familiar movement.

"Is that a problem?"

Willy stopped flapping and wrapped his arms protectively around his knees, drawing further into himself. "I dunno," he admitted. "I never saw Charlie flap before he moved here."

"And that's the problem?" This line of thought was making her nervous. She didn't want Charlie subjected to anyone who minded his "flapping."

"Sort of," there was another nervous laugh, this one louder and longer. "You see, Mrs. B-hey that rhymed!" There was another pause for giggling. "You see, Mrs. B," his face turned dead serious suddenly, with a tinge of panic around the edges, "I flap too."

Theodora let out a breathe she didn't realize she had been holding. "You...flap?"

"Yeah! And when I was Charlie's age none of the other kids liked it, or liked me, or wanted to be my friends."

Charlie had briefed her on the braces already, so she couldn't help but think of at least one other reason why Willy might have found making friends difficult. She held her tongue, however, knowing that his concerns were more than valid: Charlie was a solitary child. In a way she thought that suited Willy Wonka just find. He was desperately jealous of any time Charlie couldn't dedicate to the factory. But the Willy sitting beside her in the dark her wasn't THAT Willy. He was a child still reeling from his own hurts of the same flavor.

"I'm afraid I'm not following you, dear."

Willy turned incrementally to face her, his expression stricken. "I'm afraid he learned it from me, and I...don't want him to...have."

Oh dear, Mrs. Bucket thought, wondering how she would explain this to Willy without concerning him more.

"Oh, Willy. Dear, Charlie has...flapped ever since he was terribly young, for as long as I can remember. It's a part of who he is, just as yours is a part of who you are."

"I didn't always, ya know? Not for 'as long as I can remember.'"

"No?"

"I used to champ my teeth together instead. Click click click. But my-" his hand waved ineffectually as he spoke trying to grasp at the word he was attempting to say, and failing.

"Your...father?"

He cringed, but nodded, "he put a stop to that, lickety-split."

She thought again of the braces. "Oh, Willy..." she breathed, horrified.

"So I flapped instead. And Charlie flaps too. We flap together."

Theodora smiled, in spite of herself. "Willy, do you want to know what we did about Charlie's flapping?"

"No," his expression grew guarded, and she didn't blame him.

"Well, it worried my parents, George and Georgina, to no end. But Joe? Not Joe Bucket. He told us there was nothing to worry about. And he held Charlie very close and said 'Charlie, you remind me of some birds I remember. You see, Mister Willy Wonka was so clever that he could make chocolate eggs that hatched into little chocolate birds right on your tongue. They chirped and flapped, just like real birds. And your day was instantly brighter when you saw them, they brought everyone joy. So you see, there is nothing wrong with you, my lad. You're just our little chocolate bird, bringing us all the joy in the world,' and Charlie would laugh and laugh."

"Really?"

"Yes, really! And I want you to remember that, Willy, when you worry about your flapping, or Charlie's. There is nothing wrong with you. Can you do that?"

"I think so."

"Good boy," she patted his arm and he yawned hugely. "Look at us here, talking into all hours of the night. Why don't you go and get some sleep. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes," he ducked his head shyly before standing. She stood as well, and dusted sugar off of her skirt.

"Good."

"Thanks, Mrs. B. G'night!" Without another word, he scampered off into the darkness. She smiled after him, hoping he would take her advice-all of it.

"Goodnight, Willy."


End file.
